For this one it's the X, you retarded?
Cause I grab the mic and get DOWN, like Syndrome
Hide and roam into the masses, without boundaries
which qualifies me for the term "universal"
Without no rehearsal, I leak words that's controversial
Like I'm not, the one you wanna contest, see
cause I'll hit yo' ass like the train did that bitch
that got "Banned From TV" -- heavyweight hitter
Hit you watch your whole head split up
Loco-is-the-motion, we comin through
Hollow tips is the lead, the .45 threw

Niggaz that take no for an answer, get told no
Yeah I been told no but it was more like, "No, no, no!!!"
Life a bitch that'll fuck you if you let her
Better come better than better to be a competitor
this vet is ahead of,
The shit is all redder, you deader and deader
A medic instead-a the cheddars and credda
Settle vendetta one metal beretta from ghetto to ghetto
Evidence? NOPE! Never leave a shred-of
I got the soul of every rapper in me, love me or hate me
My moms got raped by the industry and made me
I'm the illest nigga ever, I told you
I get more pussy than them dyke bitches Total
Want beef, nigga? PBBT! You better dead that shit
My name should be "Can't-Believe-That-Nigga-Said-That-Shit"
Probably sayin, "He ain't a killer", but I'm killin myself
Smoke death, fuck bitches raw, on the kitchen floor
So think what I'ma do to you, have done to you
Got niggaz in my hood who'd do that shit for a blunt or two
What you wanna do, cocksuckers? We glock busters
'Til the cops cuff us, we'll start ruckus and drop blockbusters
'Round the clock hustlers, you cannot touch us
I'm gettin wires niggaz wantin me dead, wantin my head
You think it could be somethin I said? {*echoes*}

When I go out, I'ma go out shootin
I don't mean when I die, I mean when I go out to the club, stupid
I'm tryin to clear up my fuckin' image,
so I promised the fuckin critics
I wouldn't say "fuckin" for six minutes
(*click* Six minutes, Slim Shady, you're on)
My baby's mom, bitch made me an angry blonde
So I made me a song, killed her and put Hailie on
I may be wrong, I keep thinkin these crazy thoughts
in my cranium, but I'm stuck with a crazy mom
("Is she really on as much dope as you say she's on?")
Came home, and somebody musta broke in the back window
and stole two loaded machine guns and both of my trenchcoats
Sick sick dreams of picnic scenes, two kids, sixteen
with M-16's and ten clips each
And them shits reach through six kids each
And Slim gets blamed in Bill Clint's speech to fix these streets?
FUCK THAT! PBBT! Tou faggots can vanish to volcanic ash
and re-appear in hell with a can of gas, AND a match
Aftermath, Dre, grab the gat, show 'em where it's at
(What the fuck you starin at, nigga?)